Page 36 of Defiant Devotion

I furrowed my brow, dropping into a jog when they headed toward a car. Chasing after them on foot wouldn’t be possible now. I had to retreat to where I’d parked.

Pretending to trip on the curb, I bumped against their car and fell, looking like another homeless person.

“Watch it, you filthy motherfucker,” one of the Ilyins said, kicking at me while I was down on the pavement. “Goddamn beggars. Get the hell away from me.”

I rolled to dodge his boot hitting my face, but before I pretended to struggle getting on my hands and knees, I quickly leaned in to stick a magnetic tracking device on the underside of their car.

Got you now.

They could drive away and I’d have a bead on their path.

Once I groaned and crawled upright, they sped off. I glanced over my shoulder to see if they were out of sight, and then I dropped into a sprint for my SUV a couple of blocks over.

This still might be a dead end. It might be a fool’s errand. Maybe they were talking about someone else.

Deep in the pit of my stomach, I felt a sickening hunch that they were racing to get to Sonya and teach her that lesson about running away from them.

Call it intuition. Perhaps I was motivated to follow nothing more than wild speculation. But there was not a chance in hell that I’d stop and reconsider hurrying toward this safehouse—just in case Sonya was the escapee they’d managed to reclaim.

15

SONYA

The second the cops got a good look at me, I knew it was over. Without an ID, without my saying a single word to their questions or speaking up at all, they still knew. Baranovs were royalty in the Mafia circles, and I supposed the family resemblance didn’t lie.

“I think it’s her,” one cop said at the station. He held out his phone, showing another law enforcement member a photo of Eva. They had a file on her, at least a digital one or a photo. In the split-second glimpse I had of her, I knew they were matching me to her.

“It’s her sister,” the other cop said, raising his brows at me. “But I thought Geoff wanted to have her…”

I slitted my eyes, daring the man to finish his sentence.

Geoff Ilyin wanted to have me marry a Mr. Benson? He kidnapped me and held me until I could marry some dumbass of his choosing? Yeah, that sums it up, you asshole.

“I’ll be right back.” He smiled and held up his phone. “I’m going to make a quick call.”

The first cop who was standing over me in the small, windowless interrogation room grinned. “This is gonna be a sweet payday, right?”

“Fuck yeah. We’re getting a bonus for finding her.” As the man exited the room, he rubbed his finger and thumb together, gesturing that he counted on lots of money coming to him.

I tuned out all further questions they lobbed at me. I wouldn’t tell them my name. I wouldn’t tell them where I’d come from. They would get nothing out of me, but I wished I could have the confidence to know that the Baranov family still existed and held power. It was on the tip of my tongue to insist they contact the head of the Baranov family, but I didn’t even know who that was supposed to be with my uncle, father, and mother dead.

Besides, they’d made it clear that they were in the Ilyins’ favor. There had to be a solid association or expectation between them for these two cops to so readily want to call my captors into the station.

When the one man returned, aiming his phone’s camera at me and letting someone see who I was via a video call, it was really over.

“Yeah, that’s the bitch,” a gruff voice replied. “I’ll send some men over to the station to collect her.”

Dammit!I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at them in rage.

They didn’t wait to transport me out of the station. It was cruel, how corrupt and evil these supposedly “good guys” were. Police officers were the civilians’ heroes. Or they should’ve been. I bore witness to how wicked and greedy they could be, handing meover to pissed-off Ilyin guards who slapped lots of cash into the cops’ hands outside in the back of the station.

On the drive away, I remained closed-lipped and silent. Inside, I was fuming and ranting, shrieking until my throat would’ve been hoarse if I opened my mouth and released the sounds of pure anger and horror. Both of the Ilyins talked and joked. They laughed and taunted me, calling me names and promising pain for what I’d done.

I knew I’d killed the one man to escape their property upstate, but I was glad I’d rendered the other man sterile from how I’d fought him to get free.

“We’re going to fuck you up before handing you over to Benson,” one promised darkly.

“You’ll regret trying to get away,” the other sneered. “Big mistake.”

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